


One Little Push

by wanderingoverthewords



Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Additional Warnings In Author's Note, M/M, Pre-Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-13
Updated: 2018-06-13
Packaged: 2019-05-21 15:42:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,512
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14918174
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wanderingoverthewords/pseuds/wanderingoverthewords
Summary: Jonathan and Edward share a night upon a rooftop.





	One Little Push

**Author's Note:**

> Characters: Jonathan Crane/Scarecrow, Edward Nygma, Query, Echo, unnamed henchmen; mentioned Batman. 
> 
> Pairing: Jonathan Crane/Edward Nygma.
> 
> Warnings: casual talk of suicide and murder.
> 
> Notes: Takes place pre-relationship. Dumb villains crushing on each other. Or, well, Edward’s crushing. Who fucking knows how Jonathan feels. Not even he does.
> 
> All material belongs to DC Comics (although, my interpretations of the characters are used).

 

“We really must stop meeting like this, Dr. Crane.”

Jonathan paused, then turned his attention away from the city to look over his shoulder, frowning beneath his mask as his eyes fixed upon the source of the speech through the tinted lenses.

Another presence had been the last thing he’d expected when he’d first taken his place atop one of Gotham’s many skyscrapers to stare down at the city below and think over his options, while simultaneously awaiting the horrified screams of those he’d already infected with his toxin. It was chilly up there, but it didn’t bother him through his costume, not one inch of skin exposed to the cold.

The same couldn’t be said for Edward Nygma, who stood a few feet away, a bright smile on his face and both of his gloved hands clutching his question mark cane before himself; he looked all too smug in that pose, with that smile, like he knew he was better than all those down below (he did). He donned his costume as the Riddler: a well-tailored green suit, a crisp purple shirt beneath and a green tie; purple question marks marked the lapels of his blazer, the green collar of his shirt and the middle of his tie. His bowler hat lay nice and neat atop his head, adorning its own purple question mark upon the green felt.

Certainly a lot cleaner than Jonathan’s own get-up; the old fabric and burlap that made up Scarecrow’s appearance, with the clumps of straw stuffed into the slit of his shirt and into his sleeves and trouser legs. It did its job, though.

Jonathan didn’t think he’d ever get over how…ridiculously camp Edward really looked. It’d gotten to be less laughable, however, and more charming.

“What _will_ everybody think?” Edward added, putting one hand to his chest, smiling still.

Jonathan snorted. As he spoke, he raised his voice a little bit to be heard both through his mask and at this height, with the wind blowing upon them both, “Probably the same as I am: how the hell’d you get up here?”

Edward smirked as he stepped closer, holding up one index finger. “Ah. Riddle me that.”

Jonathan snorted again, turning back to look out at Gotham as Edward drew closer. While Jonathan was perched upon the very edge of the roof, Edward chose to remain off the thin step, putting him a bit shorter than usual compared to Jonathan, barely behind him and at his right side.

“I will riddle you nothin’. How’d you even know I was here?”

“Can’t reveal all my secrets,” Edward replied. When this was met with a waiting silence, he sighed and added, “Tapped into a police scanner for some nightly music. Happened to catch word that the Scarecrow had been spotted and I was the only one with a high enough IQ to look up. I know how much you love standing around on rooftops, after all.”

Jonathan hummed. “So you were lookin’ fer me, then.”

Edward’s expression fell.

Feeling a little bit smug when met with silence, for that meant he had managed to render Edward Nygma speechless, Jonathan added, “Why might that be? You wanna strike up another deal? Gotten tired o’ throwing tantrums on my porch and breaking into my house?”

Edward wasn’t wearing his purple domino mask nor his glasses and so Jonathan could see, in his peripheral, the way his green eyes narrowed. His lips pursed as well, the typical look of a displeased Riddler, who hated his initial attempt at dealing with Crane being described as tantruming.

Had he, perhaps, gotten a bit worked up when Jonathan had shot him down with a flat no the first time he’d requested some of his fear toxin for his death traps? Maybe a little.

Had he stomped a foot while whining that this was a _really good scheme_ and that Jonathan should’ve been glad to even be offered a part? Well, he wouldn’t have called it _whining,_ but alright.

Had he - several times after that - waited for Jonathan to come home after busting into his house and allowing Query and Echo to rummage through his things? Sure, he’d confess to that one.

But that didn’t warrant any such _teasing._

Edward cleared his throat, realising he had let the silence drag on for too long, and replied, “No, actually. Unless you had something to include _me_ in.”

“Nah.”

“Then we can say I’m simply here for a chit-chat.”

“We can _say it,_ but does that make it true?”

Edward didn’t answer the question, simply fiddled with the knot in his tie with one hand out of a need to fidget. Instead, he chose to repeat his prior point, “I was _not_ looking for you. As I said, I caught wind that the Scarecrow was on the loose and I happened to look up. Figured I’d stop by.”

“Of course.”

Edward frowned at him again, picking up the implication in Jonathan’s tone that he didn’t believe him, but nonetheless moved on. “What’re you doing up here, then? Sight-seeing? Not much to see in Gotham, I’m afraid, but I commend you for your effort.”

Jonathan shook his head. “Waiting.”

“For what?”

Just then, a piercing scream cut through the night, a sound of pure, mind-numbing terror, and both Jonathan and Edward turned their heads to look in the direction it had come from. Within seconds, another joined it from a different location, another after that and another after that, and so forth until there were at least fifteen screams sounding out from around Gotham.

Neither man seemed particularly worried nor concerned, but that was the effect of not only being villains, but also of living in Gotham City. One heard at least five screams a night, if not frightened then thrilled, and no one ever did anything about them. If anything, screams nowadays were summons for the Bat and nobody wanted to get mixed up in anything involving him.

“That,” Jonathan answered, then sighed blissfully and shook his head. _“Glorious.”_

Edward looked up at Jonathan with a fond smile. “You really are a psychopath, you know that, Crane?”

“Excuse you,” Jonathan replied, “Scarecrow’s the psychopath. I’m the sociopath.”

Edward laughed at the joke, one hand rising to his lips to cover any embarrassing expressions or noises, and Jonathan chuckled back before raising both hands.

With one hand, he moved his hood aside and with the other, he pulled the burlap sack and gas mask fusion from his head, shaking out any messiness in his greying, rust-coloured hair and allowing the cool air to hit his face, a relief from the warm and suffocating feeling of the mask, then he tucked the thing into the piece of thin rope wrapped around his torso. After straightening his hood, leaving it up, Jonathan sighed through his nose to relax, hands falling back to his sides.

Edward watched all of this out of the corner of his eye, turning his head and leaning forward once Jonathan was finished. As dirty and ragged as Crane’s costume was, he had to admit it accomplished its mission to seem creepy and had even struck fear into his own heart a few times, but he would take the regular Jonathan Crane over the Scarecrow any day. There was a very different feeling in Edward’s heart when he saw Dr. Crane, and he would much rather experience that one.

Jonathan wasn’t wearing his glasses (he never did while in costume) and so there was nothing there to reflect light off of nor to cover his view of Jonathan’s eyes as they looked out across Gotham’s rooftops. A warm, brown colour; Edward declined to compare them to chocolate, as the analogy didn’t seem to fit Jonathan Crane, so he chose instead to think they looked like dark mahogany. Woodsy, common yet recognised as precious by just a few; perfect.

Edward sighed dreamily through his nose.

Those eyes flicked their gaze to Edward and the Riddler hastily looked away and straightened up, lest he be caught amidst his own sight-seeing.

An eyebrow was raised, a wonder if Edward’s discreet staring had been imagined, before it was shrugged off and Jonathan turned his attention back to the city.

There settled a silence betwixt them, both staring out across the city and wading through their own thoughts, then Jonathan asked, “Did ya think I was gonna jump?”

“Hm?” Edward looked up at him.

“When ya saw me up here. Did ya think I was gonna jump?”

Edward blinked, then hummed and turned to look to the rooftops again. “No. While I’ve recognised your reclusive and overall grumpy nature, I haven’t ever believed you to be depressed, let alone suicidal. I would certainly notice if you were. What, did you think I came up here to make sure you weren’t going to throw yourself off?”

“Would you have stopped me?”

Edward clicked his tongue and rolled his eyes. “I have _standards,_ Jon. Of course I would have. Suicide is the worst way to go, quite frankly, and even you deserve a death more theatrical and chaotic than simply throwing yourself off of a building.”

Jonathan smirked. “Why, thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

They fell back into silence.

Edward licked his lips, the cold air up in Gotham’s skies drying them out, before he looked down at the street below.

Nobody noticed he and Jonathan standing up there, which was understandable considering how unobservant and dumb Gothamites proved themselves to be on a daily basis. Edward supposed the GCPD hadn’t thought to simply look up during their search for the Scarecrow because the skies were Batman’s domain; one would’ve thought people would keep an eye on the rooftops, on the off-chance of witnessing one of Batman’s battles against Gotham’s Rogues. That would surely please the little fan club that Gotham had become.

They relied on Batman too much, Edward thought, but he supposed they had to, in the end. People were stupid; Batman couldn’t be classified as a person in that regard.

Neither could he. Neither could Jonathan.

They were better than that. There was a reason people theorised Batman wasn’t human; he wondered if they ever thought the same of the Rogues.

The street below seemed like a mere stripe of colour from where the men stood, the collection of rectangular, coloured blots drifting by as cars drove down the road, carrying their folks along the rollercoasters that were their mediocre lives. Decently-lit, at least, so the public could pretend their existences weren’t as dull and boring as they really were; funnily enough, it was better lit up there where Jonathan and Edward stood, thanks to the lights that were still on in the surrounding buildings and the various neon signs of the night-time bars and clubs nearby. Edward found the irony in that and smirked briefly in amusement.

Edward looked back to the rooftop of the building opposite them, then said casually, “I could very easily push you off this building right now.”

Jonathan faltered, then turned his head to look down at Edward. “What?”

“I could. Right now. Anytime, actually.”

There was a pause, then Jonathan turned back to the skies. “What friendly thoughts yer havin’, Edward.”

“Just saying. You’re standing right on the edge. One little shove and off you’d go.”

“That is how that works, yes.”

“Splat on the sidewalk, like a raspberry beneath somebody’s heel. I wonder how everybody would react; the Scarecrow, suddenly crashing to the ground, dead. Panic? Worry? Sheer relief? Would your death inspire a whole new kind of fear? What could cause the Scarecrow - Master of Fear - to want to take his own life, after all? Would they come to view Batman as some sort of menace, as they would theorise that it was your constant defeat at his hands that drove you to do it? When they, perhaps, catch wind that it was murder, would they fear the prospect that there’s someone out there strong enough to take down the Rogues? Would all the other Rogues become worried?” Edward shook his head with a shrug. “Questions, questions, questions.”

There was another pause, another lingering silence, then Jonathan frowned. “…Edward.”

“Hm?” Edward looked up at Jonathan out of the corner of his eye.

“Yer being a creepy little bastard right now and - normally - I would applaud that. But instead, I feel a bit offended that the creepy one here isn’t me, so I will bring an end to yer little…hypothetical situation and ask this: what the fuck is your point?”

Edward chuckled. He supposed he had been hammering in the mental image a little too far, but that was what happened when one’s mind was so expansive: effort was put into everything. “It wouldn’t matter, though, would it? If your death inspired fear? You’d be unable to witness it, which would then make it a waste of fear. You would be turning in your spot in whatever afterlife may exist, upset that you’re missing out on the chaos. Not even Scarecrow would be able to cash in. We would be able to hear his anguished screams from here…”

“Edward,” Jonathan said before he could go on.

Edward turned his head to look up at him now. “Am I scaring you, Crane?”

“Don’t offend me further, Nygma. I don’t feel fear anymore; I believe I told you that last time we worked together.”

“You did. I was wondering if I inspired a newfound paranoia within you.”

Jonathan barked out a laugh. “No. Ya didn’t.”

“A pity.”

“Indeed.” Jonathan cleared his throat. “I feel the need ta point out, however, a flaw in yer imagination spot.”

“Oh?” Edward asked, somehow feeling…okay with somebody saying he had committed wrongness. Perhaps this was just a special case; it wasn’t a riddle nor a trivia quiz, but simply a mental image. Riddles had their answers; mental images did not. Mental images could be rebuilt or edited; riddles were forever.

“While I would be - dare I say - _depressed_ at missin’ out on such a mass of fear, I would also feel pride at knowing that even my death could spread panic through Gotham City. I would truly be the Master of Fear to these people then, an’ not just some certified crazy guy shoutin’ it out in the streets.” He rolled one shoulder. “Though, I will admit, such a prospect is makin’ me feel a li’l itchy, so I will repeat my earlier question: what the _fuck_ is your point?”

Edward smirked and looked out across the view again. Instead of giving a straight answer (only people who weren’t Edward Nygma gave those), Edward raised one hand, erected the index finger and said, “Riddle me this, Jonathan Crane: neither bought nor sold, but more valuable than gold. It is built, but not by hand. What is it?”

More silence between them as Jonathan’s frown pinched his features, the cogs turning within that brilliant mind, then he raised an eyebrow but neglected to look at the Riddler. “Are you insinuating that I trust you, Edward?”

“Precisely what I’m saying, Dr. Crane, well done.”

Jonathan barked out another laugh, making Edward’s smirk falter, then he scratched the side of his nose as he asked, “An’ how did ya reach that thrillin' conclusion, Sherlock?”

Edward puffed out a chuckle, keeping the finger erected as he answered, “You’re standing right on the edge. You can’t see my left hand without very obviously turning your head to look - in fact, I have it raised right now.” He waited. “See? That doesn’t bother you, does it? Despite my talk of pushing you off the edge. You trust me enough to remain content with the idea that I’m _not_ going to push you off of this roof to eliminate you from the ranks.”

Jonathan hummed. “Got ranks now, do we?”

“We’ve always had ranks, Jonathan. Keep up.”

“Thought they were just a me thing. Didn’t realise y’all were sortin’ us too.”

Edward’s heart swelled; great minds think alike. “Yes, well…we have ranks.”

“Good. You wanna push me off the roof, Edward?”

Edward laughed, thoroughly amused. Did he want to push Crane off the roof? The prospect of actually doing so hadn’t occurred to him, ever. In fact -

Edward wordlessly stepped up onto the ledge beside Jonathan, keeping his cane held within his right hand, his left now curled into a fist at his side. The side of his left dress shoe almost touched the side of Jonathan’s right boot.

There was a pause, then Jonathan said, “Seems like yer trusting _me_ now.”

“Trusting you not to get a slice of revenge for the death-related imagery by shoving _me_ off the roof or trusting you overall? Either way, the answer is yes.”

“A foolish decision if there ever was one.”

Edward tipped his head to the side, raising one eyebrow. “Are _you going_ to push me off the roof, Jonathan?”

Jonathan scratched at the vertical scar running through the left side of his lips. Then he finally said, “Wasn’t plannin’ on it.”

“I know. Still, it would be pretty easy, right? Just…one little shove.”

“You almost sound like ya want me ta push you off.”

Edward snorted. “No, no. I have no desire to die; too much to do.”

“An’ yet yer up here with me.”

“Yes.”

The word was said so softly that Jonathan turned his head to look at Edward, frowning lightly in confusion, both wondering if he’d really said it and what he meant by it if he had. That wasn’t the tone Edward Nygma usually used, not with him, not with anybody, and it held connotations that Jonathan wasn’t sure he was comfortable with.

Edward was smiling back at him, innocently, chummy, like he hadn’t started off a whole new riddle. But he had, and he knew it, and he was loving it.

The lights below and around them - lighting up Gotham’s dreary streets and skies, somehow failing in making them seem any brighter - were creating little sparkles in both their eyes, the brown and green irises collecting specks of light and keeping them to themselves. They made each other’s eyes much more pleasant to stare into, as if Edward needed a reason to do so, and he wondered if Jonathan was noticing it too.

Not likely, for Jonathan licked his chapped lips and said, “Would be awfully easy. One little push. Hell, not even that. Could flick ya on the arm an’ you’d topple.”

“Indeed.”

“Could do it right now.”

“You could.”

Jonathan was trying to make him scared, was trying to instil the paranoia in him, to force him to think Jonathan would really perform such a crass murder upon Edward Nygma.

But Edward wasn’t frightened, wasn’t even nervous. The smile on his face didn’t waver, didn’t falter, and Jonathan’s own lips pressed together in hidden irritation at the lack of fear.

One side of his lips turning further upwards, Edward looked up at the sky above them, deep and dark and dotted with stars. Not many stars in Gotham, none on a particularly bad night, but enough to smile at, and smile at them Edward did. “Nice night, isn’t it?”

Jonathan turned his head to look up at the stars as well. With a snort, he scratched at his scar again and muttered, “Get better ones back in Georgia. More stars, fer sure.”

“Oh?” Edward tipped his head toward him. Jonathan rarely spoke of Georgia; anytime he did was worth listening to. “I’ll have to see them, someday. You’d have to come with me, of course - as a guide. I’m afraid my experience with any sort of Southern territory is minimal at best and I would get lost amongst the unfamiliar food, backwards colloquialism and baffling interjections such as ‘well, slap my ass and call me Sally’.”

Jonathan burst into laughter, head tipping right back to project the noise into the air, and Edward’s heart swelled at the sound and thumped against his ribcage with the thrill of hearing it and the pride of causing it. His adoring smile made dimples appear upon his cheeks.

Jonathan’s laughter died down to a few spare chuckles, then he shook his head and muttered, “I’d like ta see that.”

“Then I suppose you’ll have to take me down South sometime.”

Jonathan rolled one shoulder and didn’t reply.

Edward turned his attention back to those that roamed below them; he fixed his gaze upon a cluster of black and green coloured dots, a group of individuals lurking by the building’s entrance. One of them held something covered by a white sheet, the sight of which made Edward nod once. As he stared, he caught them looking upwards at him one-by-one and, after a quick glance at Crane, he frantically waved a hand at them and they looked away.

With a cough, Edward quickly straightened his posture and resumed star-gazing.

In the distance, the last of the screaming died out. Edward hadn’t even noticed them blinking out of existence, one by one, and the slice of quietness was deafening, broken only by the soft sigh Jonathan gave at the disappearance of the noise.

The two watched the stars for a few, quiet moments, standing side-by-side upon the ledge and taking no further notice of their surroundings, then Jonathan muttered, “I could still do it.”

Edward cocked his head with a smile. “Hm?”

“Push ya off.”

This again; Edward’s smile widened. “As could I.”

“Doubtful. You said so yerself: I deserve a better death. That alone is revealin’ ta me that you’re not likely to push me off, which only leaves the higher chance that I might. I didn’t say what kind of death you deserve.”

“And what kind of death do I deserve, Jonathan?”

“Whatever shuts you up the quickest.”

It was Edward’s turn to laugh. His lasted seconds less than Jonathan’s had, then he looked to him as he said, “Well, that cancels out the pushing, then. Look how far up we are; that’s a whole forty storeys, right there. A lovely amount of time for me to scream.”

Jonathan clicked his tongue. After a pause, however, he spun on his heel to face Edward properly and repeated, “I could still do it.”

Edward smirked, then pivoted in order to face him as well. “Go on, then.”

A tension settled down upon them, the air between them suddenly growing colder and thicker and harder to breathe in. Jonathan was considering him, analysing his expression and body language like the psychologist he was. His eyes flicked this way and that, reading between the lines to try and suss out what Edward was doing, and the smile on Edward’s face remained pleasant.

Then Jonathan slowly raised a gloved hand and moved it toward Edward’s bicep. He let it hover over his sleeve, a faint air pressure betwixt the green threads and waiting fingers, then Jonathan’s hand settled upon his arm.

One little push would do it - and yet Crane did nothing.

The hand wasn’t gripping, wasn’t holding on, but the touch was still firm. He was trying, he was wanting to prove a point, but he couldn’t bring himself to deliver the shove. He had no desire to kill Edward and he was beyond being _that_ petty. Besides, Edward being dead would’ve meant he wouldn’t be around to see how right Jonathan was and how wrong he’d been, and where was the fun in that?

Above all else, however…he simply didn’t want Edward dead.

Despite himself, Jonathan kept his hand in place. Letting go meant admitting defeat.

Edward watched him, smile still there, then he puffed out another chuckle, shook his head fondly, raised his left hand and placed it upon Jonathan’s arm to mirror him.

Unlike Jonathan, Edward wasn’t trying. His touch upon Jonathan’s bicep was more like the comforting gesture of an old friend, not the one of someone considering whether another person should live or die. Gentle, soft, barely even there - but he was gripping, he was holding on, and that was more than what Jonathan was doing, even if it spoke the same amount of volumes.

They were frozen together, remaining in a bubble of tense silence and mental dares, then Jonathan raised an eyebrow and asked softly, “…Why do you trust me, Edward?”

Edward didn’t look surprised at the question. In fact, he looked like he’d expected it. He tipped his head downwards, smiling a forlorn sort of smile as he shut his eyes and puffed out air through his nose, then he released Jonathan’s arm and brushed off Jonathan’s hand.

There’d been something in Jonathan’s tone that told Edward he knew why, but if he was asking such silly questions, then answers weren’t worth providing.

Edward transferred his cane to the hand that had held Jonathan’s arm and erected the other’s index finger, his tone tired. “Riddle me that, Jonathan Crane.”

Jonathan frowned.

Edward wordlessly stepped down from the ledge and walked some distance away before saying, “I should be going now. Not only because it’s freezing up here and I can take the breeze for only so long, but because the rooftops of Gotham are the Bat’s domain and I don’t wish to be carted off to Arkham just because I’ve been seen with you.”

Jonathan nodded, understanding. “I’ll be on my way soon, too.”

“Good. I’ll be checking tomorrow’s papers to find out if you got away.”

Jonathan snorted, then watched as Edward continued his merry stroll over to the edge opposite him, swinging his cane like a metronome.

The Riddler stepped up onto the ledge on that side, turned to look at Jonathan, smiled pleasantly once more, then let himself fall backwards off of the building.

The wind ripped off Edward’s bowler hat, sent his blazer and tie flapping wildly around himself and burst through his hair, rustling the slicked back style and pushing strands out of place. Not enough for Edward to consider never pulling this stunt again, however, and Edward’s smile didn’t falter as he fell, a mere speck in the distance for the Gothamites below, who didn’t even have the decency to notice the Riddler plummeting to his doom.

Just as he passed the third storey of the building, Edward slammed into the giant inflatable crash pad waiting for him, directly into the middle of the white x, and disappeared momentarily into the material. When the crash pad sorted itself out and Edward broke out of its cocoon, he raised one hand casually and caught his bowler hat by its brim. Letting go of his cane, he brushed his brown hair back into place, then neatly set his bowler on top and grabbed his cane before looking back up at the ledge he’d fallen from.

No figure in the distance.

Heart plummeting, Edward frowned and huffed, then slid himself off of the inflatable pad.

As he did so, men in black clothing, adorning similar plastic green bowler hats, ran out from the alleyway beside the building. Two of them were carrying the item Edward had spotted them with earlier: a folded up trampoline.

After all, Edward would’ve been a fucking _fool_ if he’d given Crane his complete and utter trust while the two had stood on the edge of a fucking _building_ together. Some emergency supplies were needed as a precaution and - unfortunately - they hadn’t been able to get their hands on another crash pad, so the trampoline had had to do. He supposed the trampoline would’ve been better; it didn’t need to be full of air to do its job and he would’ve been pulp on the concrete by the time another inflatable would’ve been filled.

Even still, Edward was glad Jonathan hadn’t pushed him off the roof; he’d had horrible mental images involving him falling right through the trampoline as his men stretched it out to catch him.

More so, he was glad because that meant he was right.

Those two henchmen threw the emergency trampoline into the trunk of the Riddler’s car, then rushed over to the others to help them rip off the patch on the crash pad’s side. With a faint _whoosh,_ the air was drained from it and the henchmen waited until it had completely deflated before they started to bunch it up and collect it.

Query and Echo were waiting for him by the green barriers they’d set up to block off access to this road. As they took note of his frowning, they themselves mirrored the expression.

“Aw. What’s up, Eddie?” Echo asked, using one arm to lean upon the taller woman at her right. Her mohawk was dyed its usual purple, a fortunate coincidence that blended well with the Riddler’s aesthetic, and both she and Query were dressed in their usual combination of leather and cotton.

Edward gave another huff, looking like a child that was complaining to his parents. “He didn’t watch! He didn’t even see me catch my hat! I could _never_ do that in rehearsals!” He took a moment to think about it, then groaned and slapped himself on the forehead. “Of _course!_ I hammered in too hard the fact that I have no desire to die - of _course_ he wouldn’t have checked on me! He _knows_ I had something here to catch me - ugh! _Stupid!_ Such a fatal mistake!”

Query blew a bubble with the gum she was currently chewing on, letting it pop on its own accord before she used her tongue to collect it up and drag it back passed her green-painted lips. She reached out and patted Edward’s arm. “Don’t sweat it, boss. Can always throw yourself off another building some other time. Make sure Crane watches.”

Edward sighed. While he appreciated Query and Echo’s attempts at comfort (they were always there to support his theatrics), he didn’t exactly feel any better. “I suppose…Still, we had this big build-up. I feel like it’s ruined potential; we can’t replicate a conversation about shoving each other off a building, after all.”

Query and Echo faltered, then looked to each other. They sought guidance in the other silently, then shrugged dismissively, with Query shaking her head and muttering, “Men are weird.”

Edward sighed again, dejected, then turned on his heel as some of his hired men passed them, the scrunched up inflatable now in a box that they would put alongside the trampoline in the back of the Riddler’s car; the other men were tending to the barriers. “Come on, ladies. We’ll have to think up something even more brilliant and heart-pounding.”

“So that Crane can see how badass you are?” Query asked.

“Precisely, Query, dear.”

“Rad.”

The henchmen had finished putting away the crash pad and the barriers and were now looking to Edward for further orders, which he struck down the possibility of with the wave of his hand. The deed was done, they were now useless to him, and he gave another wave of his hand to dismiss them. As quickly as they had appeared, they disappeared; the Riddler only hired the most efficient of hench-people.

Edward led his girls toward his beloved green limousine, its license plate adorned with three question marks, and Echo passed him his car keys (he’d given them to her in fear of losing them while falling). Edward tiredly pointed with his keychain and pressed the button. The car’s lights flashed and the vehicle gave out two squeaky beeps.

They had almost reached his prized motor when Query suddenly stopped and said, “Boss.”

Edward halted himself and looked over his shoulder at her.

Query continued to chew idly on her gum, but she was looking upwards. When she felt his gaze on her, she nodded to the ledge he’d fallen from.

Edward blinked, then looked up at it.

Jonathan Crane was perched there, just as he’d been on the other one. He was a blob in the distance, his costume helping in his blending with Gotham’s night sky, but he was staring down at Edward, that much was obvious.

Edward’s lips formed a perfect ‘o’, then he smiled that same pleasant smile, even though he knew Jonathan probably wouldn’t be able to see it, and raised a hand to wiggle his fingers at him in a cheeky goodbye.

A few seconds went by, then Jonathan turned and walked away, pulling his mask from his rope belt to tug on over his head, confirmation that he would now be leaving that rooftop and beginning his escape from the authorities.

Edward stared for a few moments more, in case Jonathan would come back, then he smiled an adorable, excited smile and put his hand to his cheek, tipping his head into his palm as he practically squealed, “He _checked_ on me…! He was _concerned…!”_

Echo burst into giggles and threw an arm around his shoulders while Query joined him at his other side. “He sure was, boss! You got ‘im!”

Edward hummed in delight and nodded twice, resuming the walk to his beloved car, a little spring in his step as he went.

One little push, indeed.


End file.
